


What Doesn't Kill You

by Daisiestdaisy (Doyle)



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-S2 Finale, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/pseuds/Daisiestdaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of the season 2 finale. Richard has a panic attack in the bathroom at Raviga, again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You

He’d kept his pants on this time. So at least that was something.

“We’re early,” Jared said. “Take as long as you need.” And that was different from last time, too; Jared knew him better now, wouldn’t have been fooled by _hey, I just need the bathroom_ , _I’ll be right back_ , so Richard hadn’t even tried. When the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, and the pressure in his head and his chest intensified until it felt like his skin was too small for his body, he just said, “Jared, I’m having a panic attack” – and then there was an arm around his shoulders and Jared was quietly telling Laurie’s assistant that they’d be in the bathroom if she needed them.

He was a big fan of whoever decided on putting carpet in here instead of tile. It was probably the most comfortable option if you had to find yourself curled face-down on the floor of a men’s room, which he did, because this was just his fucking life and firing him over the phone wasn’t enough for these people.

“I brought a paper bag if you wanted to try breathing into it.” Jared was rubbing small, slow circles between Richard’s shoulder-blades. Clockwise, counterclockwise, back again. “I know you’re not hyperventilating, and that the literature’s mixed on the actual benefits, but maybe it’d be psychologically helpful anyway?” His hand stopped moving, rested on Richard’s back. “Although by making you think about the placebo effect I may have just destroyed it. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Richard mumbled into the floor. Jared’s hand was warm through the back of his shirt.

He was way past the point of freaking out about getting touchy-feely with a male friend-slash-employee – or just friend, now, since he wasn’t anyone’s boss anymore. He’d been past it two minutes after hanging up Monica’s phone call, because honestly, it turned out that being hugged for a long time by somebody a lot taller than you was really nice, and if any of the others had a problem with that, they could go fuck themselves.

Nobody had said anything, though, and that was almost worse. “Richard, when they make Academy Award-winning documentaries and/or off-Broadway productions about us, and they will, this will be your Apple Firing Steve Jobs moment. In fact, I envy you. I can’t believe you turned out to be our Wozniak _and_ our Jobs.” It would’ve almost been convincing if Erlich hadn’t ended with, “C’mon, I promise, everything’s going to be fine” – quiet, and sincere, and a level of bullshit even he couldn’t sell.

Just before dawn Richard had passed out on the rec room couch, Jared already half-dozing beside him on the floor. He’d woken up a couple of hours later with his arm dangling over the side and his hand on top of Jared’s, and Dinesh had just brought him coffee without giving him shit about the two of them being Kate and Leo with the boat going down or whatever.

They were being careful with him, like somebody had died. Like _he_ was dying.

Shit, Dinesh had _brought him coffee_ , and Gilfoyle offering to DDOS Raviga’s systems had been sweet, in a Gilfoyle-y way, but that was apocalypse-level niceness. Richard hadn’t been sure he even knew how to make it, beyond ‘bitch at Gilfoyle till coffee happens’.

“Richard?”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I mean, I’m not okay. I’m on the floor of a bathroom. Again. But. You know. Aside from that.” He was breathing a little easier. “What time is it?”

“We’re not very late.”

“So we’re late?”

“Just a couple of minutes.”

“We can go,” he said, but his arms and legs weren’t taking orders from his brain yet. “We shouldn’t keep Laurie waiting,” he added, like he could guilt his own limbs out of their total fucking uselessness.

“With everything they’ve put you through,” Jared said, “Laurie can wait for five fucking minutes.”

After a couple of frozen, startled seconds, Richard rolled onto his back. Jared was kneeling beside him, pale right now even for him. The flush rising in his neck and high in his cheeks was vivid against his skin, and his hands were clenched at his sides, and Richard took a second to process that he really had heard what he thought he did.

“I’ve never heard you swear,” Richard said. “Not ever. Dinesh and Gilfoyle had a two-hour debate once over whether you were raised super-religious or you had a v-chip in your brain.”

“I don’t have a v-chip. That I’m aware of.”

“Yeah, you’d probably know.”

Jared tipped his head, like he was seriously trying to remember whether something had ever been implanted in his brain and, God, Richard was going to miss these people so much. Maybe he could stay in the incubator, at least, if he came up with a new app pitch fast, but Gavin was in his head, oily and triumphant and leering at him in a mirror: _I’m sure you’ll come up with plenty more once-in-a-lifetime ideas, Richard._

However else this had turned out, however awful and exhausting and humiliating it had all been, at least they didn’t lose to Hooli. At least he got to see Gavin Belson fail.

“Fuck Gavin,” he said, and Jared nodded solemnly, not asking for any context. From the way he spoke about the guy, he didn’t need any. “And fuck Laurie.”

“I don’t want to say that because it feels too personal and bordering on misogynistic? But in principle I agree with the sentiment. Eff Raviga.”

V-chip activated. Richard grinned despite everything, and Jared’s answering smile was surprised and sweet.

“You look better.”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I think I’m actually going to be okay. Um... hey, is it okay if I still call you sometimes? After all this?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Or text you, if that’s easier. For business advice or, I don’t know, facts about birds. Or just to check in on how Pied Piper’s doing.”

“I’m not going to be with Pied Piper,” Jared said, sounding totally confused, sounding like Richard should have known this already.

He pushed himself up on his hands. If Laurie’s assistant came looking for them it’d look like they were doing some weird yoga workout, kneeling face to face on the carpet. “Jared, what are you talking about? They only fired me.”

“The new CEO...” Jared gave him an apologetic look. “They’re going to appoint a new CEO as soon as they can. That’s why they called you in, to try to arrange a smooth handover. And the first thing that person will do is exactly what I did: work out non-essential personnel. Erlich’s on the board, and he doesn’t draw a salary, so they won’t care about his role. Gilfoyle’s indispensible, as the only person who knows how the server works. On a pure skill level they might be able to replace Dinesh – please never tell him I said so, I don’t want to hurt his feelings – but I doubt they’d find someone as talented who’d also get along with Gilfoyle.” He shrugged. “But there are a dozen people they could hire off the street today who could do what I do. By definition, I’m non-essential.”

He didn’t even sound sorry for himself, was the thing. Let alone angry, and he should have been furious. “You’re essential,” Richard said. “Jared, you’re... there wouldn't even be a company for Raviga to take over without you. I would be back at Hooli, or in my parents’ basement in Tulsa – not literally, they don’t even have a basement, but – I wouldn’t have made it this far. If the new guy’s not going to realize how much the company needs you, we need to go talk to Laurie right now. Come on.”

He got to his feet, but Jared hadn’t moved. His eyes were bright. Okay. He’d dealt with Richard’s emotional mess all night. It was only fair he got a turn. Someday the stars would align and both of them would have a meltdown at the same time, and who even knew who’d deal with that catastrophe.

He’d known validation was kind of a big deal for Jared so Richard was braced for him to cry, but not for him to just swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, or for “I want to come with you.”

“What?”

Jared hunched in on himself, folding his arms tight across his chest. “I can help if you want to start over. Like Steve Jobs. We did it before. If anything, this time should be easier. At the very least, we know to avoid porn-site bakeoffs.” He was trying hard to sound optimistic, but the tremor in his voice was ruining it. “I suppose I just... thought it was a given that I’d be going with you. I have a resignation letter in my pocket, in case they didn’t fire me. I’m sorry for being presumptuous. But I don’t mind if it’s here, or in Tulsa, regardless of whether your parents have a basement, or somewhere else. I just want to stay with you.” He looked down at the floor, blinking fast, and was quiet for a minute. Then he drew in a long breath and forced his hands down to his sides, his shoulders straight. “But if you need me to stay with Pied Piper, I will. I will.”

Richard looked down at him.

It wasn’t exactly like when some problem in his code suddenly clicked, and he could see a solution unfolding perfectly in his brain faster than he could type. It was close. Same feeling of clarity, of things falling into place, without the usual certainty about what exactly he needed to do.

Getting Jared on his feet, though, that seemed to be a good start. “Come on, get up,” Richard said. Jared did as he asked, as always. His head was still down, avoiding Richard's eyes. “How late are we?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Do we even need to see Laurie or can we, like, shove your letter under her door and book it out of here?”

Jared’s head shot up, and wide-eyed was pretty much his default setting, but Richard thought he might be holding his breath, too. Not letting himself hope.

He reached for Jared’s hand, and _that_ was going to be embarrassing if he’d misread the feelings here, but it seemed to fit. It wasn’t clinging to each other as the Titanic went down so much as hitting the gas and Thelma-and-Louiseing it over a cliff. Maybe that was why Jared had a thing for suicide pacts. “Fuck Raviga,” he said. “If they don’t think you’re essential, they’re morons, and if they do, too late. Whatever we do next is going to be better. Way better. Even if I have no idea what it’s going to be yet. But it’ll be... something. Yeah.”

This was why he left the inspirational speeches to Erlich. But Jared was staring at him like every nonsense word was perfect, and there was only one thing, really, that he needed to say.

“Stay with me. Please.”

“Of course,” Jared said. “Of course.”


End file.
